


It Can Be Our Little Secret (Promise You Can Keep It)

by JaskierOfRivia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Relationship Reveal, Valdo Marx Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskierOfRivia/pseuds/JaskierOfRivia
Summary: “I know that look in your eyes, Jaskier,” said Valdo Marx, and a feeling of dread settled in Jaskier’s stomach. “I’ve seen it on the faces of my adoring fans as they look at me, spend time with me, watch me perform. I’ve seen it on the faces of husbands and wives looking at each other. I’ve seen it on the faces of people as they gaze upon their paramour.”“Don’t go there, Valdo,” Jaskier warned.“Oh no, I’m definitely going there,” Valdo laughed. “You’re in love, aren’t you Jaskier?”ORWhen a contract takes Geralt and Jaskier to Cidaris, it's only a matter of time before Jaskier runs into Valdo Marx, and Valdo decides to reveal to an entire godsdamn inn something Jaskier was desperately trying to keep secret. But maybe, just maybe, Valdo Marx's revelation will work out for all involved.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 240





	It Can Be Our Little Secret (Promise You Can Keep It)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Writing Corner discord bingo event #1, for the prompt 'awkward silence'

Jaskier had known it was a bad idea to go to Cidaris. It _was_ where Valdo Marx was from, after all, and any place that could birth and create Jaskier’s mortal enemy was not a place Jaskier particularly liked. (And he _was_ Jaskier’s mortal enemy, no matter what Geralt said.) Not to mention the people of Cidaris actually thought that Valdo Marx was actually a talented bard, with truly excellent songs and a brilliant voice; they even thought he was better than _Jaskier_ , much to Jaskier’s own disgust. People with such backward, misguided, _wrong_ opinions weren’t exactly people that Jaskier wanted to spend any length of time around.

(Geralt always said, rather diplomatically, that maybe the people of Cidaris just liked the fact that Valdo Marx was one of their own, but that didn’t matter in Jaskier’s mind. A talentless hack was a talentless hack, it didn’t matter where they came from.)

The only thing Cidaris had going for it in Jaskier’s opinion was the ocean and the coast and beaches, thanks to its position in the west of the Continent. While on the coast there, Jaskier could almost forget he was even in Cidaris, and could pretend he was just in any old coastal kingdom that made up the Continent. But the coast meant drowners and drowned dead and other water-based monsters, which meant jobs and coin for Geralt and other Witchers. Which was what brought them to Cidaris in the first place.

Neither Lambert nor Eskel often came out this way, Geralt had explained to Jaskier, and he didn’t know if any of the other few remaining Witchers ever ventured out this way. He’d never seen them there, anyway. And Geralt himself hadn’t been to Cidaris in a few years. This lack of Witchers meant a large number of monsters roaming free, which meant Geralt could almost have his choice of contracts. They’d headed to the coast first, much to Jaskier’s delight and Geralt’s slight annoyance. If Jaskier _had_ to be in Cidaris, he may as well be somewhere he actually enjoyed.

“You didn’t _have_ to come with me, you know,” Geralt muttered, for at least the sixth time in the last three days, as they left the alderman’s house to head for Geralt’s current contract. A nest of drowners, right on the coast, far too close to where the local fishermen docked their boats.

“As if I could ever stay behind, dear Geralt,” Jaskier replied, with far too much flair than was really necessary. “Who would look after you, haggle you better pay and conditions and food, treat your wounds?”

“I survived just fine before I met you,” Geralt pointed out. This was a tired old argument of theirs, one they had had many times. It never had much malice or spite or annoyance anymore, from either Geralt or Jaskier. It was more habit now than anything. They both knew that Jaskier could never stay behind, and that Geralt really did want Jaskier there (although generally in a lot less danger than he often ended up in).

“Yeah, but now you survive _better_ ,” Jaskier countered. “And also, how else would I be able to document your epic tales of triumph?”

“You’ve seen me fight drowners before, Jaskier. They’re annoying little fuckers, yes, with sharp claws and great speed, but they’re susceptible to my silver sword and to my Igni sign, and they’re really not that smart. Really, their biggest strength is that they attack in groups, which is why you better stay hidden when I fight them. If they see you, they’ll go after you, and I may not reach you in time.”

“Yes, boss!” said Jaskier, with an over exaggerated salute that would’ve made Geralt chuckle maybe a little if the situation wasn’t so serious.

“I’d tell you to stay with Roach, but I know you won’t,” Geralt said, sounding rather exasperated. Jaskier chose to ignore it. “Just stay behind the bushes and trees. If you’re out of their line of sight and sound and smell, they won’t even realise you’re there and focus on me.”

“I’ll stay safe, Geralt,” Jaskier promised, and he meant it. If Jaskier stayed out of the way and out of danger, it meant that Geralt could focus on the monsters, and he didn’t have to worry about Jaskier’s safety. And anything that meant that Geralt’s contract would be easier, meant that he was less likely to get injured, was something that Jaskier would do willingly and wholeheartedly.

“What if you get knocked unconscious, though?”

“A pack of drowners aren’t going to knock me unconscious, particularly if you stay out of sight.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“ _Jaskier_...”

“I’m serious! What if there’s more drowners than expected? What if there’s harpies or something around? I’ve got to be some use just in case, Geralt.”

Geralt sighed, softly, reaching out to put a hand on Jaskier’s arm. “If it’s safe, and _only_ if it’s safe, you grab me and get me out of here if you can. Otherwise, if it’s too dangerous, you run and try and contact Yennefer or Triss. There’s no use in us both getting injured.”

Jaskier wanted to argue, wanted to reach out and touch Geralt’s face, wanted to _beg_ him to be safe, wanted to demand that Geralt let him help with the drowner nest, maybe throw one of his Witcher bombs or something. Instead he nodded and stepped back, preparing himself to hide. “Okay. Okay.”

“I’ll be fine, Jaskier,” Geralt assured him. “I’ve fought worse. Far, far worse.”

Jaskier shuddered. He remembered some of Geralt’s more dangerous fights all too well. The yelling, the violence, the blood, the injuries… sometimes, it truly amazed Jaskier that Geralt was still alive.

“As long as you’re careful,” Jaskier said. He just wanted- no, _needed_ \- to know that Geralt would keep himself safe, that he wouldn’t just throw himself into the fight with reckless abandon. His life was more important than Geralt himself seemed to think sometimes.

“Of course I will be,” Geralt promised. He could never guarantee his life, but he could always guarantee he would _try_. There was too much riding on him being alive, anyway.

“Well, I’ll be… over here then,” Jaskier said, waving over to the bushes and trees behind them. There was more he wanted to say and do, there always was, but there was no time. He didn’t want to distract Geralt, didn’t want him to have too much else playing on his mind while he was trying to clear out the drowner nest. He’d tell him and show him later. Again, Jaskier always did.

In the end, the fight was just as easy as Geralt had predicted it would be. The drowners were large in numbers, but not in smarts, and Geralt’s skills and years of training soon overwhelmed them.

Not to mention his Igni sign. Being able to shoot fire at them was incredibly helpful.

Geralt and Jaskier split up briefly upon their return to town. Geralt headed to the alderman, carrying several drowner heads in order to prove his contract completed and collect his payment. Jaskier, however, headed straight for the inn, hoping to at least get started on his dinner before Geralt arrived and ate his in a quarter of the time it took Jaskier. Maybe he could even get a few drinks in, and see about a bath for Geralt. Drowner guts didn’t exactly smell nice.

As soon as Jaskier opened the door to the inn though, he wished he’d stay with Geralt.

“Well, well, well! Look what the wolves dragged in!” called out a smarmy, annoying, grating voice that Jaskier knew all too well.

“Valdo Marx,” Jaskier said, almost spat, deliberately refusing to shake the other troubadour’s hand. He couldn’t bear to touch an inch of that bastard’s skin.

“Now, now, that’s not how you address a dear, old friend!” Valdo exclaimed. “Especially when you’re in my neck of the woods. What brings you to Cidaris, anyway?”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends, Valdo,” Jaskier said, walking away to the bar and ordering some sort of marinated chicken dish that he would _never_ get on the road with Geralt, what with the number of spices and rarer vegetables it included. But money was good for them at the moment. They could afford it, and if Jaskier had to put up with Valdo’s presence, at least he would be eating good food. “Add a mug of ale. The biggest you have. I’ve had a long day, and it just got longer.”

“Long day? Is _that_ why you’re in Cidaris, my dear Jaskier?” Valdo Marx leant on the bar with one arm, angling himself in such a way that Jaskier was boxed in, unable to back away from him.

“I don’t know when you became so interested in my life. And I’m not your _dear_ ,” Jaskier grumbled, still not looking at Valdo even if he couldn’t escape his presence. Instead he sat down and dug into his chicken dinner with vigour. It _was_ absolutely delicious, better than anything Jaskier had eaten in a long time. Even the presence of Valdo Marx couldn’t change that.

Jaskier finished several mouthfuls and half his mug of ale before finally talking to Valdo Marx again. “If you _must_ know, and I really think you don’t, I am here because Witchers very rarely come to Cidaris, and that means there are a great number of contracts for Geralt of Rivia to complete. And more contracts for Geralt means more money for the both of us, and more material for my songs. Which means more popularity and riches for me and not for you. Must keep you awake at night, wishing it was you instead of me.”

“I must admit, I cannot understand what that Witcher sees in you, _Julian_ ,” said Valdo, deliberately using Jaskier’s birth name. He knew how much Jaskier _hated_ that. “I would’ve thought you would be so annoying he would’ve left you on the side of the road to be eaten alive by monsters after less than a day.”

“It is _very_ much a reciprocal relationship, for your information. He gets as much out of it as I do,” Jaskier retorted. “Not to mention he’s _saved_ my life multiple times, not left me to die.”

“Doesn’t sound very reciprocal to me,” Valdo commented.

“I’ve done a great many things for him. But that’s _his_ life, not mine. You have no right to that information, unless he chooses to give it to you, which I highly doubt would ever happen. You don’t _deserve_ to know about him.”

“You seem awfully invested in this Witcher of yours,” Valdo said, sounding deliberately casual, but with a note of something in his voice that Jaskier did _not_ like. “A lot more so than anybody else would be.”

“What can I say? He’s my meal ticket,” Jaskier said, trying to keep his voice as level as he possibly could. “Not to mention it’s a lot safer travelling at a Witcher’s side. Don’t have to worry about protecting myself from bandits or monsters when Geralt does it for me.”

“Seems like it’s a _liiii_ ttle bit more than that for you, though.” Valdo had a sly smile on his face, a gleam in his eye, and Jaskier felt his insides _squirming_. He wanted nothing more than to get up and leave, to head up to his room and lock himself in until Geralt returned from receiving his payment. But Valdo Marx had blocked him in, refusing to let him leave. The only way that Jaskier would be able to get away from him would be to push him, or throw his ale in his face. Given Valdo Marx’s strange popularity in Cidaris though, that would almost definitely get Jaskier kicked out, or start a bar fight he almost certainly wouldn’t win without Geralt.

The silence growing between Jaskier and Valdo Marx was almost painfully uncomfortable. Valdo was clearly waiting for Jaskier to do or say something, and Jaskier was studiously ignoring him, digging into his food.

“Your silence is deafening, dear Jaskier,” Valdo said with a laugh. “Not going to answer me?”

“You don’t _deserve_ a response,” said Jaskier carefully. “But if you _must_ know, Geralt is my friend. Not that you would know what having one of those is like, would you?”

“Oh you wound me, my dear!” said Valdo dramatically, one hand going to his heart as if Jaskier had stabbed him. “What did I ever do to deserve this treatment from you?”

“You existed,” Jaskier spat, and then sighed when he realised his plate was empty. He’d finished his food. “And I’m not your ‘dear’. I’m literally the exact opposite of that.”

Geralt was taking far, _far_ too long for Jaskier’s liking. He was sure Geralt was fine, or at least not in any sort of danger- Jaskier would’ve heard the commotion if he was- but Jaskier desperately wanted to go looking for him. It would get him away from Valdo Marx, at least.

Unfortunately, Valdo just wasn’t making that possible.

“I’m sure you don’t mind if your _Witcher_ calls you that though,” said Valdo, with a tone as if he’d just realised something.

Jaskier blushed a very deep shade of crimson, that he hoped Valdo Marx would mistake for anger or annoyance instead of something closer to embarrassment. “Geralt never calls me that. He just calls me my name. It sounds a lot better coming out of his mouth than yours, by the way.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if he called you ‘dear’ though, would you Jaskier?” Valdo Marx continued, that same tone in his voice. Damn bards and their ability to read people and their emotions. Unfortunately, even Valdo Marx was skilled in that regard.

Jaskier remained silent, not wanting to dignify Valdo’s words with a response, but his awkward silence was response enough for the other bard. Valdo Marx tutted and laughed, but they were both saved from saying anything else by the door to the inn being thrown open and a large, imposing, rather terrifying looking man entered.

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Geralt of Rivia. He could tell that Geralt was tired and sore and covered in muck, and that he just wanted to have a bath before doing anything else. His golden eyes scanned the room, before finally finding Jaskier. He must have seen something on Jaskier’s face, a ‘please help me’ look in his face, or might have even deduced who was with Jaskier, because instead of heading straight upstairs to their room, Geralt made a beeline straight for Jaskier.

“I know that look in your eyes, Jaskier,” said Valdo Marx, and a feeling of dread settled in Jaskier’s stomach. “I’ve seen it on the faces of my adoring fans as they look at me, spend time with me, watch me perform. I’ve seen it on the faces of husbands and wives looking at each other. I’ve seen it on the faces of people as they gaze upon their paramour.”

“Don’t go there, Valdo,” Jaskier warned.

“Oh no, I’m definitely going there,” Valdo laughed. “You’re in love, aren’t you Jaskier?”

Jaskier didn’t answer; instead he gripped his mug, so he’d he thought he might break it with his bare hands.

“You’re in love with that big, scary, strong Witcher aren’t you? You don’t need to say anything. Your increasingly awkward silence is answer enough.Say, does your Witcher know?”

Both Jaskier and Valdo Marx turned to look at Geralt. He’d been waylaid by the innkeeper, who clearly had a problem with a man covered in drowner guts and blood and other gross things being in his inn, and _not_ washing everything off. Geralt had clearly said something about Jaskier, because the innkeeper indicated him and stepped away only a little, as if to watch and make sure Geralt was only fetching Jaskier and nothing else.

“Don’t even think about it, Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hissed, one hand gripping the mug, one hand gripping the edge of the bar. He knew exactly what Valdo was thinking, and he didn’t like it one little bit. If he did what Jaskier knew he wanted to do, Jaskier was fucked. Well and truly fucked. And not in a good way.

“Your incredible discomfort is making me want to do this even _more_ , dear Jaskier.”

Valdo Marx turned around to face the whole inn, his hand on Jaskier’s arm so he couldn’t escape. “Attention, good people of Cidaris!” Valdo Marx called out, gaining the attention of everyone in the inn. Geralt began striding even faster towards Jaskier, practically shoving people out of the way. Jaskier knew he’d still be too late, though. “Let it be known that Jaskier, my dear friend, biggest rival, and fellow bard, is madly in love with Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher who’s right here with us and who he writes all his songs about!”

A strange, awkward silence fell over the inn. The patrons didn’t know what to do; they just stared at Jaskier and Valdo Marx, and at Geralt who had just reached them.

Jaskier couldn’t look Geralt in the eye. Instead he glared down at his own hands, as if they had personally offended him. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that, Valdo?”

“What’s going on here?” Geralt asked.

“I’m just talking to an old friend,” said Valdo Marx. “I’m Valdo Marx, troubadour of Cidaris and infinitely more talented than Jaskier here.” He stuck out his hand for Geralt to shake.

“No you’re fucking not,” Jaskier growled. “And don’t you dare touch him. You have no right.”

“Is this man annoying you, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. When Jaskier nodded, Geralt turned to glare at Valdo Marx, until he lowered his hand. “Is this who I think it is?”

“If you mean my mortal enemy, yes, this is _exactly_ who you think it is. And now I despise him even more, I think. Geralt, I understand if you wanna get separate rooms for tonight. I’ll just-”

“Nonsense, Jaskier. Why would I want to do that?” Geralt had a strange, mischievous sort of look in his eyes, one that most people wouldn’t see if they didn’t know him as well as Jaskier did.

“Because Valdo Marx here just told the entire inn that I’m in _love_ with you, the absolute bastard.” Valdo chuckled at that. Of course he did. “Soon all of Cidaris will know, and then the whole kingdom, and then the Continent. You know how much of a target that puts on my back?”

“I guess we’ll just have to continue to travel together, then. All of the time.”

“What are you _saying_ , Geralt?” Jaskier asked. He turned towards the Witcher, all thoughts of Valdo Marx and the rest of the patrons temporarily forgotten. The rest of the room was still awkwardly silent, waiting to see what they would do next.

“I’m _saying_ that Valdo Marx didn’t say anything that I don’t already know,” said Geralt carefully, a small smile playing across his face.

Valdo Marx just blinked rapidly, staring from Geralt to Jaskier and back again. “Wait, what?” The rest of the room was silent, as if balancing on a knife’s edge.

“But Geralt, we said we’d-” Jaskier started, but the Witcher in question cut him off.

“I know what we said. But I think deep down, we both always knew that that was a temporary thing. We’ll just have to make sure you stay protected. People were always going to find out about us. But I’m not letting that change a thing.”

Geralt reached out and cradled Jaskier’s face with one scarred hand. Jaskier leant into the touch, completely forgetting that everybody in the inn was watching them, that Valdo Marx was staring at the both of them with his mouth hanging open. “Would I rather this still be secret? Yes. Will I occasionally freak out? Probably. Am I going to leave you or dump you on the side of the road, never to see you again? Definitely not.”

And to the shock of everyone in the room, especially Valdo Marx (and Jaskier too, for that matter), Geralt leant in and kissed Jaskier. Softly, sweetly, briefly. It reminded Jaskier of their first kiss, on a cold and almost wintery night, alone in their rented room, when they’d first reunited after Geralt’s return from Kaer Morhen.

If the silence in the room had been awkward before, boy, was it awkward _now_. Everyone was staring, frozen, as if they were afraid to be the first to move or speak.

Of course, Valdo Marx was the first to break the silence. “Okay, what the _fuck_ is going on?”

Feeling braver, now that he didn’t have to worry about Geralt _leaving_ him, Jaskier turned to Valdo with a smug grin on his face. “You weren’t telling Geralt anything he didn’t already know, _dear Valdo_. We love _each other_. We were already _together_. We were just keeping it a secret, and I thought you announcing it to the whole room was going to ruin everything, but I guess I was wrong. I suppose I should thank you. I don’t know that I could ever be so _open_ like this without you.”

Jaskier rose to his feet, placing a hand on the one part of Geralt’s arm that _wasn’t_ covered in drowner guts and muck (it may have had Geralt’s blood on it, but Jaskier had touched that plenty of times, so that was nothing new). “Come, Geralt. Let’s go to our room. You definitely need a bath, and I can wash your hair and clean your cuts for you.”

Geralt nodded, and turned to follow Jaskier to the stairs so they could head to their room. Before he’d gotten very far though, he stopped, turning to look at Valdo Marx. Geralt had a deadly look in his eyes, like Valdo Marx was a monster he had a contract on. It was a look that terrified anyone who didn’t know Geralt as well as Jaskier did; including Valdo Marx, who was shrinking back against the bar, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“You better fucking hope you never need the help of a Witcher, Valdo Marx,” Geralt told him. “I’ll make sure my brothers know not to help you, unless the lives of other innocent people are in danger. I can see why Jaskier tried to wish you dead.”

With that, Geralt and Jaskier headed up the stairs, and the spell of awkward silence the room was in finally broke, as they began furiously discussing Jaskier the bard and how talented he must be, to have a Witcher fall in love with them.

Valdo Marx on the other hand, slunk away defeated, and it was a long time before he was willing to go anywhere near Jaskier again.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter [@JaskierOfRivia](https://twitter.com/JaskierOfRivia)


End file.
